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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27659542">Defiance and Retribution</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZadieWrites/pseuds/ZadieWrites'>ZadieWrites</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Merlin (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Both that and the eye trauma have very graphic descriptions, Caning, Canon Era, Choking, Evil Morgana (Merlin), Eye Trauma, Gen, Gore, Hurt Mordred, Hurt/No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Specifically takes place between 5x11 and 5x12, Tongue Loss, Unhappy Ending, Whump, Yeah someone gets their tongue cut out, this fic is generally extremely violent, very strong Uther and Morgana parallels</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:50:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,740</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27659542</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZadieWrites/pseuds/ZadieWrites</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mordred is rarely bold enough to question Morgana. Morgana reminds him why that is.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mordred &amp; Morgana (Merlin)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Defiance and Retribution</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I’m in dire need of some whumped!Mordred so have Morgana being a really shitty mom.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So,” Morgana’s voice started, in a tone of frightening calm. “You refuse to give up your king?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Camelot guard who knelt in front of her cold, granite throne looked defiantly up at her, as her guards held him by the shoulders. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mordred realized as the guard responded that he’d rather die, that he knew this man. They’d chatted a few times in the halls, about horses. He didn’t remember his name but he remembered his horse’s name.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Little Domnic. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know . . . and you will. But not right away,” Morgana explained, flippantly waving her hand to her guards. “Cut off his tongue, so that his silence . . . shall be made permanent. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The guards didn’t hesitate, practically salivating for the opportunity to exercise their cruelty. Mordred knew his queen only recruited sadists . . . he liked to think he was the exception but he was not so sure these days. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He flinched as soon as he saw a knife slip out of its hilt and inside of the man’s mouth. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Watch carefully, Mordred. This is how you make an example out of someone.” she told him over the screams that faded into voiceless gurgles as blood filled the mouth of the guard. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mordred didn’t bother explaining to her that it was because he had seen so many displays of violence, brutally performative in their nature that it was difficult for him to watch this one. Morgana seemed  to get pleasure out of having a monopoly on breaking his innocence. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The tongue was dropped to the ground after being fully separated from the mouth it had originally been attached to, with a light slap that made Mordred’s stomach roil. Blood spattered the stone tile and gushed out of the disfigured guard’s mouth, darkening the crimson of his tunic. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Cut his eyes out as well, bring them and the tongue to me in a box. I plan to send it to my brother.” Morgana detailed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stoically, Mordred watched it all. Watched the blade jam behind the man’s eye and sever his optic nerve. Watched the organ roll out of its socket and across the floor. Watched the process repeat for the other one. The imagery wasn’t really the hard part. The hard part was the screaming. Horrific, inhuman wails emerged from the throat of the guard as he was left blind and mute like some kind of worm, blood pouring down his face and dripping onto the floor . . . </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fortunately for him, he wasn’t left like that for long, and Morgana ordered for his throat to be cut last. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mordred stared at the corpse, blankly for a moment, feeling suddenly queasy. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You didn’t have to torture him . . . you didn’t even get anything from him.” he said to Morgana as the body was dragged away. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s about sending a message,” she remarked. “You should understand.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I . . . just don’t see the point of all this.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You don’t have to.” Morgana regarded him with stiff dismissiveness. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was her way of telling him this conversation was over. And to proceed with caution because of it.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mordred did the less wise thing and ignored the nonverbal warning. These days she was more aggressive, crueller. She had a higher likelihood of taking action against him in response to being challenged. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He knew when he was a child  . . . well, he might not have put it past her to physically discipline him but she would have at least been determinedly reasonable about it, and she would have needed to have good cause but things had changed between them, she was stretched further mentally and they had been separated for so long . . . </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is this how things are going to be when you become queen?” asked Mordred. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her blue eyes narrowed. “Choose your next words carefully, boy.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Perhaps . . . it’s about sending a message the same way burning my people instead of beheading them was in the eyes of Uther Pendragon and perhaps that’s why I don’t understand.” he said, quietly, looking down, knowing that would upset her greatly. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Morgana’s eyes flashed yellow and a bitter wind blew through the open room. She stood up, turning to him. Mordred sucked in a gasp as he felt her frigid hand close around his throat, gripping not hard enough to close his airway but hard enough to assure him she was the more powerful in this situation. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wanted to say something in protest, but all he could do was stare at her with eyes wide with shock, and mouth her name.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then suddenly the pressure on his neck was released, and Morgana was staring at her hand as if she’d been burned. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t know what came over me, I shouldn’t have done that . . .” she whispered, it sounded more to herself than anyone else. “This is not a retribution I should give.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nevertheless you must be punished. But not at my hand.” she decided.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mordred just remained frozen. He knew what he was asking for when he’d compared her to her father, therefore he couldn’t exactly say he was surprised. He rubbed his neck slightly as Morgana gestured to her guards. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The guards approached him, grabbing his shoulders. His heart began to race. He definitely trusted Morgana more than anyone else to do whatever would be done to him in return for his defiance. She was the only one who actually cared what happened to him, even if she’d also probably cause him the most pain. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Uh-Morgana-” he protested, trying to wrench his arm free of the grip of one particularly eager guard. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t be afraid. I wouldn’t let them leave lasting damage, you know that.” she assured him, sitting back down to apparently watch this take place. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The guards dragged him to the center of the room and held him there. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I suppose you’ll want me on my knees now?” Mordred said, his tone more confrontational than he’d intended, elevated by his annoyance and confusion at the situation. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>If she weren’t so dependent on theatrics, this would be a lot easier to handle.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not quite yet, my boy. I need you to undress from the waist up first.” she said. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>So he was to be flogged. He should have foreseen that. Jerking his arms out of the guards’ grip, he began to steadily unbuckle his chainmail, his eyes staying in contact with Morgana’s. He’d never been comfortable shirtless and now he was being forced to expose himself in front of a woman, he essentially saw as the closest thing he had to a mother (which felt strange given the current circumstances) and several of her bestial employees, some of which he knew would love to do unspeakable things to him, if given the opportunity. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But he did it, despite his reluctance. He stripped down, his hands growing shakier and shakier with each layer he dropped onto the floor, until he stood, his torso bare. He shivered and wrapped his arm uncomfortably around his chest, his hand subconsciously covering the mark on his shoulder which branded him as a druid. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of his druid heritage, quite the opposite, just that he’d gotten so used to having to hide it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“On your knees now. And turn around, I want to make sure they’re not hurting you more than I want them too.” ordered Morgana. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mordred turned so his back was to her and dropped to his knees, putting his hands on his thighs and breathing in and out trying to prepare himself for the lash. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’d been flogged before, as well as beaten, mostly by older criminals he’d worked with when he was younger. But he wasn’t sure if he could recall the last time that happened. One time he’d fully blacked out throughout the entire, barbaric experience. When he’d came to, his back had been slick with blood and he did not fully recover for weeks. It occurred to him, the scars would still be there, and now everyone could see them. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Use this.” he heard his queen’s voice say, and when he glanced back behind him, he couldn’t see what she was indicating. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m . . . frightened.” Mordred confessed to Morgana. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know, darling. It’ll be alright. I promise.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then he was struck for the first time, not by a whip but by a long piece of cold, polished wood. It came down across his shoulders causing the muscles of his back to convulse and he groaned, as a reaction to the impact alone, his brain was still processing the pain. Once it had, his eyes stung immediately, which he really hoped wouldn’t happen so early on. The pain was dull, burning and persistent. The cane wasn’t like the lash, which struck viciously fast like a snake bite, staying in one place and beginning to burn away. It was more like a dog bite. It was slower, covered a lot of ground, and the pain itself was less but it lasted longer. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he was struck again he let out a strangled cry, biting his bottom lip to stop it, as a fresh sheen of tears appeared against his eyes. When he was hit on his lower back he startled and jack-knifed backwards, letting go of his lip in his surprise and heaving a gasp. Tears were streaming down his cheeks and he barely processed it. No sobbing or other indications that he was crying would occur, tears just kept falling.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The guard with the cane continued to beat him, a few seconds between each bitter strike, Mordred lost count in his head of how many strikes he was receiving and how long it had been. His head was dizzy with pain by the time Morgana decided she was satisfied and ordered them to stop. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When his arms were released he collapsed forward onto the ground, barely holding himself up with his forearms. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Only then would sobs begin to overtake him. His entire body rattled as he cried on the floor, clutching his head in his hands. He could feel the bruises growing on his back and the burning agony persisted. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You see, my boy, if I had dealt that beating, your pain would be much worse. I can’t always control myself.” Morgana attested. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mordred sniffed and wiped his tears, sitting up on the floor. He stood straight, pulling his clothes back on. The chainmail irritated the tender skin of his damaged back but he buckled it back on anyway. Then he turned to Morgana, red-eyed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I understand. I won’t question your methods again.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Alright thanks for reading, if you made it this far, it was probably something you wanted.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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